Elemental Sight
by Raven Dragonclaw
Summary: An Elemental fic, set in the late 1800s. Thanatos, the god of death, has decided to pay his mortal descendants (the Blacks) on Earth a visit. He doesn't like what he finds. That doesn't mean he has to go home right away. Not when he can have fun.
1. Once More, Being Himself

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything related to Harry Potter and characters/ideas related to it. I do own Melania and the other gods along with the plot. As well as Thanatos. Figuratively, to my dismay.

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**BEFORE YOU CONTINUE ON, IT IS ADVISED THAT YOU READ THE FIC ELEMENTAL GENESIS. IT WILL CLARIFY A FEW THINGS.**

I say this to those who aren't really familiar with my Elemental universe. One of the most popular characters in my Elemental series is Thanatos, the god of death. He's a carefree and free-spirited individual, unlike most members of his family.

If you're wondering the connection to Harry Potter, there are many. Thanatos happens to be Sirius' ancestor, the one who started the whole Black family. This is his story about a jaunt to the mortal realm to visit them during the late 1800s. Hogwarts will come up, as well as members of the magical community, and a very young Albus Dumbledore. And, of course, elementals.

I still advise any unfamiliar readers to read Elemental Genesis first. I hope you enjoy the story.

---Raven Dragonclaw

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**Elemental Sight**

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**Chapter One  
Once More, Being Himself**

Me? I'm always the insane one. Been so since I was born. At least, according to my borthers and sisters. And my father. Along with my mother. Nearly everyone says that I am. It contrasts greatly with the whole "scary Death" image that I'm supposedly supposed to uphold.  
…But I at least get to have some fun!  
_-Thanatos (Death, the Grim Reaper, Nathaniel Black…do you really need this?)_

"So, do you think that it is a good idea?"

"Do you want my true and honest opinion?"

"I wouldn't be asking if I weren't, now would I?"

"Yes, you would."

A slight pause. "Okay, you got me there. But honestly now."

"I think it is perhaps one of the most outrageous and otherwise unreasonable - if not insane - ideas that you've had since that jaunt as a conquistador in the 1500s!"

Silvery light filtered in through the blue curtains, giving the pair of deities in the room an ethereal - nay, ghostly - cast on their pale skin. One was a regal young woman, looking to be in her mid-twenties, sitting comfortably on a dark green armchair, looking over her tea critically at her company. Legs crossed and a boot swinging slightly in the air to some unseen and unheard rhythm with practiced grace, the lift revealed a hint of scarlet red petticoat. Her clothing was that of a riding outfit for a lady - a long woolen dress, a surcoat that was militaristic in fashion due to its elaborate trim and tassels. Completely done out in sable, silver, and crimson, she seemed at home in this realm of night and darkness, the queen of the mysterious black powers. Her dark hair was plaited in many braids, wound together in a complex bun. She balanced a sheaf of papers on her knee, the turquoise heron feather tucked behind her ear. Dark blue eyes were narrowed in suspicion (the amused kind), but her mouth was in a frown. Obviously, she was caught somewhere between mischief and disapproval. Somehow.He sighed. His little sister had - sadly - become...responsible. It was now a confirmed fact: she had been spending far too much time with their other siblings. Could it be Artemis or Moros? Maybe his own twin brother, Hypnos?

Either way, she had lost the light!...No. That was the wrong way to put it. Strayed off her path? Yes. Much better.

The young man gave her a suffering look – plainly designed to gain sympathy…and ultimately what he wanted in the long run. It always worked with his mother; the exception being all times after she had found out that she had been duped and he found himself on the end of an earful. The "puppy-dog" look, as he called it, was his patented creation and could not fail! Unfortunately, he was dealing with his sister, his usual cohort in mischief, so she knew when he was currying for appeasement. He stood leaning against a stone fireplace, empty and devoid of light and warmth. His dark hair was roguishly messy and looked in need of a trim, the black locks curling at the ears and the nape of the neck, combined with wicked good looks (in his opinion) and irrepressible charm – he considered himself somewhat lucky. Especially when it came to style. You couldn't beat him when it came to style. At the moment, he was wearing slate gray tweed suit with a seersucker vest and modest shoes. A crisp white shirt, devoid of ruffles that some preferred but pleated and neat, a black scarf wrapped around his neck. Generally, the clothing of the day. Unlike his twin (black robes and all that), the younger set of twin brothers (a combination of combat robes and armor), and their older brother Moros. He was under the belief that sibling was not quite right in the mind – what sane person would think that long billowing black coats and fedora hats would ever be somewhat popular?

Then again, he was speaking of Moros. The god of cunning (and his lesser known – and his opinion, more appropriate – duty of overseeing downfall and doom) always had some scheme cooking up in his head. He'd have to be insane. No reasonable individual could handle the complexity of those machinations. Not that he himself didn't scheme himself.

Which was what got him into trouble most of the time anyway.

"Now, Mel," he cajoled. "You know that I just couldn't resist going then, right?"

Melania gave him a pointed look. "I'm sorry if my expectations of your self-control were inflated, Nat. Or is it _Don Luis Carlos Aristizabal del Seville_? But you weren't the one who had to deal with mother. And **_Father_**. It didn't help that Moros was – for lack of anything better to do – playing Devil's Advocate. There's a reason he patrons lawyers, you know that!" She steadied the papers on her knee, for in her rant they had nearly fallen to the carpeted floor.

"Lousy snake," he muttered. "I knew I should have drugged him before I left then…must remember to do that this time around…"

"Thanatos!"

He shrugged. "It's the truth! And you said it yourself, he didn't help matters anyway." Thanatos paused in thought, beginning to pace as he did. It was a habit of him to do that when thoughtful or worried. "I wonder why he does that to me all the time. Is it because he's an older brother? Maybe. But I'm an older brother, as well. I'm not a jerk…at least I don't think I'm a jerk." He stopped to look at her. "Mel? Am I a jerk?"

She ignored the question with a roll of her eyes and a wave of her hand, eliciting a delighted laugh from the brother. He loved it when she got frustrated. Wait – but would that mean that he was a … his ponderings were broken as his sister started to speak again. "And in retrospect, it didn't matter. Dad always knows when you go off on one of your adventures," Melania countered. "He wants you to do your job, not run off who knows where to leave your Reapers to it."

"For your information," he defended hotly, "I am a good god of death!" Never mind the fact that he had the habit of going off on his own and interfering in mortal affairs. Such as that the time his sister brought up briefly. And that time during the Middle Ages. And the Renaissance. And the French Revolution (nearly got guillotined then, that he did). What could he say? He couldn't just sit around all day nor could he dutifully go about his job bringing dead souls for his sister to judge. It got tedious after a time. And the stress! Look at Hypnos; he worked twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week! Heaven forbid you interrupt his schedule – especially considering his rather obvious hatred of insomniacs. And that he…propositioned the help of a few dead souls to help with the collection. The world was a big place, after all…

Yes, he was a good god of death. Got to keep up that self-esteem!

"Speaking of Dad and your Reapers," Melania put in, "how are you going to pay them back for their services to you? Dad wants to know about that." She set the teacup down on the nearby end table, the china clinking loudly in the silence, looking at him expectantly. Thanatos settled for giving her a blank stare, at the sight of which she groaned at. "Don't tell me – you never even thought of it, have you?"

"I figured just being in the presence of my sparkling personality and beguilingly amicable candor would be enough, actually."

* * *

If there was one thing that he could always claim he possessed, it was an inordinate amount of charisma and persuasion. Sure, it took him a much longer time to convince Melania that he was as innocent as a newborn (despite the fact that when he was born, he had killed the doctor…but that wasn't exactly his fault, really) and not going to cause an ounce of trouble. Why? For the simple reason that she was usually his compatriot in…crime. Wrong word. Hmm…he definitely needed to improve upon his vocabulary. There had to be other words to more accurately convey his ideas. Because, quite frankly, it was just getting frustrating now.

Pain in the arse. Yeah. Good expression for that situation there.

Hands in the pockets of his breeches, he set off down the busy street, grinning absently and humming a tune. Blue eyes turned upward, he noted the curling black spires of smoke trailing in the sky. He wasn't sure what to think of that. While he was all for the advancement of technology and human innovation (except in the case of the guillotine, but that was another story…partially), he didn't know how to approach this encroachment against nature. There was a balance to maintain, after all, and it was his duty as a dark god to keep that fragile equilibrium. And while he was Death personified, he did have his job to do, even if he tried to avoid it as much as possible.

…Back to avoiding!

He had given a legitimate reason for this visit – to see his mortal relatives and how they were doing. Thanatos, or 'Nat' as he preferred, was going to drop in on his descendants. Impromptu, if you will. It was the best way to do it. After all, if you were told a god was coming for a small call, wouldn't you try to put on a good face and try to milk him for favors for all its worth? Yeah. He wasn't going for that. And it would give him a more accurate look at the family. For him, it was obligation (sadly) and responsibility (gasp!) mixed with some curiosity that drew this on. Artemis, since she held superiority over him as the oldest, claimed that she kept an eye on them herself and they were just what she would expect – completely and utterly insane.

This, of course, instigated an argument, in which Nat had been assured that those supposedly 'insane' descendants of his were much like he was in personality. It would make sense. Artemis, goddess of the moon, had been calling her younger brother Thanatos, god of death, insane since he was…if given to human years, about three (when he had proclaimed his knowledge that he was going to have another sibling again at the dinner table for the simple fact that 'Mum was fat again'). His sister – Artemis, not Melania – had just smiled grimly and said_ "Go ahead"._

Curiosity be damned, he was going to see what she was so smug about.

He stopped in front of a well-to-do house, grand and obviously maintained with the utmost care. Nat, nevertheless, scowled at it. Why? It was so formal! And, in its own way, absolutely dismal. This house was all cold stone and practically stank of spells. It did not go beyond his attention that the neighbors, whose houses were overshadowed by the stark behemoth, avoided looking at the house. Not surprised, he noticed that their eyes simply glanced over it. But still...the aura of antipathy and formality cut through the air like a knife and even if others couldn't see it, they could certainly feel it. As he was walking up the sidewalk, an old woman carrying a basket of vegetables from the market scurried past.

Needless to say, he was amused when she stopped short next to him, giving him an incredulous look. With a short gasp, she hastily crossed her heart, and with apparent venom in her voice, rattled, "I remember you."

Nat raised an eyebrow. Really? Interesting. "I am afraid that I do not recall the meeting," he answered neutrally. What better way to get out information than being intentionally vague?

"You were always there," she spat, glaring at him through slightly crazed eyes, pointing a hooked finger at him. "My mother died in childbirth, you were by her bedside. You were there when my father died in India - the letter said a handsome dark-haired man was there. My brothers with cholera and the influenza, you were at their funerals, standing by their graves. My sister when that bloody son of a bitch that she had for a husband finally did her in. When my husband died, _YOU _were there. _You were always there._" The tension hung in the air, a specter brought on by his mere presence and the past.You are _**Death**_," she finished scathingly. "And now you have come for me."

Nat smiled enigmatically, nodding in the negative. "I am afraid that you've still got a few years left in you," he admitted, grinning wildly, noting her surprise. Ah, he loved when he did that. Just because he went around...dealing death as it were, didn't make him a bad person. And that was his job. It wasn't as if he had much of a say in it. "I can say that the souls of your family are doing quite well. But I do suggest you get your affairs in order, Madam Davenport. It would help a great deal."

Giving him the evil eye and a feral shriek, she turned away, hurrying down the street. To her retreating back, he called out, "Life promises only good fortune to your nephew! See that young Timothy takes advantage of that." Nat turned away before he could catch the startled halt of Madam Davenport, her questioning and suspicious look, and her final dismal of hatred. If he had, it was doubtful that he would care. He was far too used to that reception to be particularly bothered by it.

Finishing the trek to the stair, he took the knocker and rapped on the door smartly seven times. That was the tradition - a family member would always knock seven times. He would know - he founded it. Back in those old Medieval days, with Ariadne...

Sigh. He missed her dearly. Now was not the time to dwell on the far past, though. It was time to meet the said result of his and Ariadne's brief (in his case) time together. Their descendents.

The door opened to reveal the long and tired face of a creature, wearing a dirty towel wrapped around it like a toga. Thanatos barely managed to restrain his disapproval. He disliked using house-elves. It took the spark out of just _doing _something. "Who is calling may I ask?" the house-elf intoned listlessly.

"Nathaniel Black," he answered crisply.

"I knows there is no ones by that name," the house-elf returned. "My whole life have I served the Black family."

Nat nodded his agreement. "I must admit that makes perfect sense...does it not, Daggert?" he admitted to the elf, smiling knowingly down at the elf, who backed away in suspicion...if not fear. The house-elf had not said its name nor had anyone summoned it, certainly not in front of this stranger. "After all, I am a great deal older than you. If you look at the family tree, you'll find my name. First name on the top." The buggy green eyes got even wider. "There wouldn't be any Blacks without me, you know," Nat continued, enjoying this.

He had a like of surprising people. So what?

"MASTER JULIUS! LORD BLACK IS HERE! NOT DEAD IS NATHANIEL BLACK! IS AT THE DOOR!"

There was a flurry of feet. Oh, this was going to be good.

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	2. The Black Family

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything related to Harry Potter and characters/ideas related to it. I do own Melania and the other gods along with the plot. As well as Thanatos. Figuratively, to my dismay.

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**Elemental Sight

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**Chapter Two  
The Black Family  
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"I never saw the point in being formal. Perhaps it was because I just like a lot of change. Or maybe, when we were conceived, my dear twin got all the formal-loving genes, leaving me free to just waltz around, fancy-free. Well, I admit that it's a lot better for the soul. As well as for the body! All that stress takes a toll over time, you know. And who would know that little fact better than me?"  
_-Thanatos (just call me 'Nat', will you?)_

As the footsteps grew near, Nat noticed a distinct change in the demeanor of the house-elf before him. At first, the house-elf was merely condescending and quite a bit on the dull side. Now, though, it was practically cringing in fear, particularly at the sound of a...banshee? Was it even human? It didn't sound as it was. But it was definitely the sound of the screeching of some disagreeable woman. He had enough experience with women, both mortal and immortal, to know that.

Indeed, it was the woman who came first and Nat decided immediately that she wasn't the person that Daggert the house-elf had called. For one thing, she didn't look like a 'Julius' at all. She burst into the room like a warship wrapped in taffeta. Bright purple taffeta, nearly shocking magenta, that was a distinct eyesore. She looked as she was once somewhat pretty in her youth, but it was easy to see that it was all in the past. Her figure had turned stout and thick, her face was lined and hard, and no amount of plaster-like make-up could conceal that. Or that her complexion was flushed, probably because of the straining corset. Those eyes seeming to slowly kill everything in their black gaze. Black hair was stuffed under an old-fashioned powdered wig, so large that Nat was belatedly surprised that she had come through the room to begin with. As soon as she had come in, she smacked the magical servant over its head with the fan clutched tightly in her fatty fist.

Her faced twisted as she screeched at the elf, Nat slightly fascinated (by the sheer horrific nature) of the way her face contorted, the penciled-on beauty mark moving from her cheek to chin in a matter of seconds. Indeed, he found himself just _staring_ at it. Later, when Moros commented on this strange...feature, he would claim it was like watching a car crash. Or watching Deimos and Phobos work.

Not that there was much of a difference between the two instances in the first place, really.

"What nonsense are you blabbering on about, Daggert?!" she shrieked, and Nat could swear that he could see the brilliant crystal prominently in a nearby cabinet shaking from the sheer power of her voice. "I told you that you were not to bother me during my tea time!" He winced as the ringing soprano vibrated in his ears. By the grace of the Universe, was this woman some kind of malevolent opera singer sent to rid all of mankind with her mere voice? Or maybe she was a descendent of Harpies?

Now there was a disturbing thought. His bloodline mixing with that of Harpies. Or even worse, malevolent evil opera singers.

The woman then turned wrathful eyes to him, quickly noting his state of dress and dismissing him as a commoner. Which he found somewhat insulting. He was a god, for...God's sake! And a rather spiffy dresser he'd like to add. "Who are you?" she demanded, and he could see her fat fingers wrapping even more tightly around the handle of that fan. "Why have you let a _**disgusting muggle**_ in here?!"

"But Mistress Victoria, he knocked on the door! Daggert did not know!" the elf wailed, shielding its head from more abuse. "He claims he is Black, mistress. Says he is Nathaniel Black, that he said. Knew Daggert's name and the family tree!"

"'Fraid he's right there," Nat put in, adding some saccharine sweetness to his tone just to annoy her. That and treating the situation with utter aplomb. He knew - from experience - that tending to really frustrate anyone, particularly those with short fuses. And if this woman was a bomb of any kind, Nat would wager that she had a fuse barely longer than a quarter of an inch. Indeed, the Mistress Victoria seemed to quite literally _swell_ in front of Nat's eyes. "And it isn't so much as '_claiming' _that I am...more like I actually am."

"You?!" Mistress Victoria spat...causing Nat to wipe his face with a handy handkerchief from his pocket. "You're probably some low-class muggleborn trying to get some of the inheritance! Or some bastard son from a less fortunate cousin or squib-" She went on and on about who else he 'could' be, but Nat sort of tuned that out. One ear, out the other really. He had plenty of experience getting yelled at to begin with anyway. Though it was a puzzling thought - how could there be **squibs** in his bloodline? That didn't make any sense at all. If he had a magical bloodline, it would stay that way. Just like how if his wife had been muggle, every one of his descendants would have been muggle.

My, this was one strange...and rather ignorant woman.

Blinking demurely as he noticed she had...for lack of a better word, finished (it looked more as if she had just run out of breath), he smiled and swept past her into the adjoining dining room. Several pairs of eyes glanced up to look at him, most of them bored and lazy. One look around the room and he could see that there was kind of trend going on. After the second look, they finally realized exactly who was in the room with them, some of them spilling their tea or choking on cookies.

"Hello all," he greeted blithely, though rather put off at the cold reception. Good, he had shocked them. Family or not, he had made a reputation on being...alarming. In both the good and pleasant as well as the frightening sense. The former one being the one who got more of a reaction.

Striding past the gaping aristocrats - what clothes they were wearing! - he took a seat at the empty chair at the head of the table. It **was **his rightful place, after all. Flashing an amused grin, he leant back and strummed his fingers on the elaborately carved wooden armrests. But didn't these people know the meaning of comfort?! They were all sitting around the table, prim and proper as can be, in petticoats and formal suits. And those robes! Not to mention that even with the plush cushioning, he felt like he was sitting on a rock. Perhaps he could sort his wayward descendants out in _some_ way.

Silence reigned for a full ten minutes before he got frustrated.

"So!" he exclaimed. "What is going on in all of your lives? I am sorry to admit that I have been extremely busy..." That was a lie. "So much so that I have not been watching you all as closely as I should have. Well?"

The woman on two seats to his left - a weak looking thing - made a small noise, like that of an animal being trod upon. The man next to her, however, saved what dignity he had (left) and scowled in such a way that reminded him almost painfully of a cross between his father and his aunt Hecate. Which was never a good combination, Nat could assure you of that. The resemblance was still there, just that the other man was older. The dark hair was grown long and Nat could see certain features of his own face in the other's. But he did not have the blue eyes that were characteristic to his family, nor did they have the same...somewhat charismatic aura. And the lack of good taste in clothing...who in their right mind wore _ruffles_?

Now that he thought about it...he couldn't see anyone here with blue eyes like his own...

"Who do you think you are, you little whelp," the man growled.

"I happen to be Nathaniel Black," Nat reiterated calmly. Honestly, couldn't these people take a hint? "Patriarch of the Black family. And you are? One of my descendants I know, but names? Never been too much of my strong point."

The man sniffed in a such a snobbish manner that it repulsed Nat. Of course, he offered a handkerchief to whoever it was (it was just plain polite), but it was quickly thrown aside with what could adequately be called revulsion. Now really, was that necessary? No. But he was liking this visit less and less...

"I happen to be _Julius Black_," the man intoned pompously, to which Nat rolled his eyes. "And _**I**_ am the patriarch of this family, not you. You're probably some low-down gold-digging muggleborn." What was with the whole thing against muggleborns? He certainly didn't expect that to ingrain itself into the psyche of his descendants. Tolerance was one of the tenets of the family rules!

And besides...it was largely his fault that there was such a low wizarding population to begin with. The Black Plague (the irony of the name?) and all.

"No, you're wrong," Nat returned, pouting. "I am."

"No, I am."

"No, I am."

"No, I am."

"No, I am."

"NO, **I AM!**"

"NO, YOU'RE NOT!"

"NO, I'M NOT!...HOLD IT! I AM!"

Smirking innocently, Nat asked, "You're what?"

* * *

...Six hours later, Nat was sitting in the parlor room of 12 Grimmauld Place shaking with absolute and complete fury. And, being a god, this anger tends to be not only extremely palpable, but also _extremely_ dangerous. This fact made more so by the fact that this wasn't any other god that was angry, _this _was **Death**.

Generally, you wouldn't want to piss Death off. It just wasn't smart. Not to mention, it would have to be something of the most annoying and frustrating thing to get him angry. Thanatos was one of the most laid-back and lenient of the gods when it came to human trifles. Probably because they would end up seeing him or one of his Reapers anyway.

...Seriously. This was not a good thing.

The other members of the Black family seemed to sense this as well. Julius was trying to put up a good front, as was the estimable Victoria, but the rest had a pretty good idea that only trouble was going to come of this. In fact, many of them had already fled the room in fright. To the eyes of any bystander, it was clear who was going to come up as the winner in this. And it wasn't going to be the mortals in the room, that was for certain.

He felt that he had pretty good reasons for being upset. Not only did his descendants have a pureblood-complex the size of Moros' sarcasm (and that was pretty big), they were petty, elitist ungrateful bastards! Not in the literary sense, but in the derogatory one! They had supported four Dark Lords while he was gone, murdered a number of muggles for fun, collected dangerous artifacts that only had uses of the malicious and evil kind. They treated him like garbage just because he shows up in muggle clothing, but he could imagine how they treated the other wizards and witches around. It seemed to him that the whole lot of them had a river of maliciousness and sadism running through them wider than even the Styx! All their money, based primarily on an enchantment on the family accounts made by himself hundreds of years before to support them while he was gone, was saved in a miserly fashion and instead of being used for more practical purposes, they were spent on lavish and useless items. It was a complete and utter outrage! He had not provided that spell for those purposes at all!

This fascination with money had also caused conflict within the family itself. Why, he just found another relative ensconced in a bed and locked in his room, on...death's door. Ignacius Black, the elderly and frail man rasped out when Nat found him, and he had asked for some degree of mercy for the crimes he had done before he died. Apparently, this was Julius' father. Ignatius recognized him to some degree - at least he was regarded as a Black - but the man was confused between seeing him as both Death and some lost forgotten son also by the name of Nathaniel. For that latter situation, Nat had a strong feeling that Julius had a hand in that disappearance.

And he wasn't going to even _**start**_ on the increased life expectancy spell he had cast all those years ago either!

"You have ten seconds," Nat intoned, rage tinging every word with a sinister darkness. He sat in the chair in the manner of a wrathful lord, his blue eyes hard and merciless. His body was taut with tension and repressed anger, like a growling panther ready to pounce on its prey and rip its throat out. The drumming sound of his fingers against the hard wood as he waited was loud in the thick silence of the room, expression both expentant and furious. This was the Death most were familiar with - dark, forbidding, and ruthless.

"Listen here-" Julius started.

"One," Nat interrupted.

Victoria swelled in front of him again, "You have no right-"

"NINE!"

At the shout of his voice, they seemed to diminish in size before him, not just in general physical terms but in the case of character as well. With each and every passing moment, Nat could barely contain himself from just lashing out. It was an absolute _**insult**_ to be related to these...these...creatures! They had no base sense of morals or kindness in them. Just looking at them now, cowering in fear at the mere sight of him, he could see that there was no sliver of remorse for their actions. Not like his children, who he made sure to raise well while he was present on Earth. Not like Ignacius, who though admitted his own transgressions, felt regret towards what he had done. But not these two. Not those who were waiting just outside the door with bated breath, some of them actually _hoping _Julius and Victoria wouldn't survive their encounter with the mysterious relative claiming to be their ancestor.

They were all just selfish beasts.

"Ten," he whispered finally, and neither Julius and Victoria spoke a word. Their mouths were open, but no words came out. He could see Julius' black eyes alive with panic, Victoria's 'beauty mark' on the move again as she struggled to find some speech to justify their actions, but this time Nat was not amused. The grandfather clock in the corner chimed ten times, as if reiterating Nat's small time period. But beyond the ringing, the crackling of the parlor fire, and Nat's still drumming fingertips, there was just silence.

Casting a contemptous glare, Nat rose from his seat, noting that Julius and Victoria backed away even more than they already had. A swift motion of his left hand a black cloak suddenly appeared, which he wrapped around himself. With quick and steady strides, he made his way to the exit, the door swinging violently open as he drew nearer, the curious faces of the remaining members of the Black family scattering at the mere sight of him. Nat continued past them until he was at the front door, casting a terrible look upon them all.

"You - all of you - are not my descendants. You are not related in any way at all to me, nor will your children or your children's children," he pronounced in a low, feral growl. His blue eyes were shadowed over. Dramatically turning on his heel, he left the house which shut with a slam behind him. The Black family stood in mixed shock and horror, though not knowing why they suddenly felt so terrified.

Passing the gate to the main street, he turned around again to look back at the house his _former_ relatives lived in, sparing it none of the dislike present in his eyes. This time, Thanatos lifted his right arm and stretched it out before him, hand and palm open, his fingers spread like a star. He concentrated...and for a moment, it seemed as if his hand had vanished into a combination of air and darkness. The residence before him shook forcefully, before half of it - the part that none of his family were in at the moment - collapsed to the ground. The plants and lawn quickly turned yellow, then to an utterly dead brown.

Once his hand had reappeared, Thanatos turned his back on 12 Grimmauld Place and the Black family, his footsteps striking the pavement loudly in the still night. In essence, he had broken all ties with his descendants here on Earth. No more luck, no more success, no more money, no more youth. They would have to work for it all now, like all mortals. And they would soon realize just how much they depended on him.

Inside the chaos that was now 12 Grimmauld Place, there was even more panic. Every one seemed to have grown older in mere moments. Victoria's already aged face looked ten years older. And Julius' face was now lined with the lines from continued scowling and frowning, the luxurious black hair he had mere minutes before now completely snow white.

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	3. A Promise

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything related to Harry Potter and characters/ideas related to it. I do own Melania and the other gods along with the plot. As well as Thanatos. Figuratively, to my dismay.

* * *

**Elemental Sight** _

* * *

_

**Chapter Three  
A Promise**

If there's one thing I absolutely hate, it's begging. Yes, begging. It annoys me half to…death. No, that pun was not intended! But it's true. I attribute it to the fact that nearly everyone begs to me at some time in his or her lives…or afterlives. Whatever. If it's the person or the loved ones or whatever, they always do! 'Why did you take –insert name- from me?' 'Bring –so and so- back to me!' 'Kill this person!' Bloody annoying, to have all these mortals petitioning me to do this and do that. There's a plan, you know! You don't like it? Tough. Live with it. My father on my back is enough, thank you very much!For the record, I've made earplugs mandatory equipment for my Reapers.  
_-Thanatos (Really want to know all of my names? There are a lot of them. Or better yet, all my titles?)_

Leith Maitland had seen a great many things in his lifetime.

No, that would be incorrect. Afterlifetime, if there was such a term, would be much more accurate.

Either way, the seasoned Englishman had seen a lot. No one would think that by just looking at his rather ordinary features. He was as thin as a rail, sinewy and lean, unlike most of the rather portly and bloated customers he was usually privy to. One of those guys who had the look of friendliness and honesty, he was the kind of man that anyone could feel that they could talk to easily. It made his job a lot easier.

He had to admit that many of his circumstances made his job a lot easier.

It came with the territory with being a Reaper, a collector of souls. There were many kinds of Reapers, of course. If there weren't some kind of order to it all, then the system wouldn't work. Sure, he knew that it was ironic that he was equating order of all things to the god of death. But it was true, there was a system, and it was essential for the smooth running of ever. He wasn't the usual kind, like his good friends Annie Kentworth and Ptolemy Shadis, who wandered the Earth and actually brought the souls to through Lethe to Annuvin. Sure, he had done it before, several times, but that really wasn't his profession.

Leith Maitland was a Catharsis Reaper, one who gave final peace. Those about to go confessed to him whatever they wanted to say before they died (it didn't have to be right before death, but anything at all and he would hear it), he sometimes made arrangements pertaining to any information that should be let out, and then stood back to let the Ferryman Reapers do their work. As most people found their peace in either bars or hospitals, and he disliked the antiseptic feel of hospitals, here he was.

He found the work enjoyable. It wasn't all that different from when he was an innkeeper during the what they know called the Middle Ages, though people had less of an inclination to knock down the good old ale nowadays. But he enjoyed it. And it gave him a bit of a boost when it came to his status on the job. After all, this wasn't exactly the greatest real estate in London. It was smoky, dirty, and more often than not filled with the shadiest characters. Which suited him fine – he got the most information out of these guys, who wandered through the murky underworld of the city.

The sandy-haired man absently cleaned the mugs with a rag in a practiced manner, brown eyes looking over at the man across from him with curiosity and a certain level of disbelief.

For sitting right in front of him, absently scowling while sipping one of his beers, was one very important person. Of course, this person was given the ultimate in service. His meal was perfectly made and Maitland could guarantee that it was probably the best he had ever cooked. The beer was one of his best, brewed to absolute flawlessness, having just the right amount of flavor and froth. This man was given everything for free and would get everything refilled for free. Because, really, no one denied this particular man. Or rather, this particular more-than-a-man.

His name was – for the moment – Nathaniel Sebastian Black. To all others, he looked like a pale-skinned young man with messy black hair that curled at the nape of his neck and at the ears, who seemed on normal occasions to have a mischievous and even somewhat wicked air in his mannerisms. His clothes were more expensive than what were usually seen around here, but for one of the first times in the bar's history, no one seemed to mind. This was someone whom the shady and suspicious characters felt an affinity with, someone that they knew and couldn't harm and wouldn't dare cheat. Which was true in many ways.

Leith Maitland, barkeep and Reaper, knew him simply as 'Boss'.

His true name was Thanatos. Most of the world knew him simply as 'Death'.

And, something almost completely foreign to Maitland's experience, the Boss was not happy. No, the Boss was **upset** Not even that. **Furious.** There were only a few times that he had seen the Boss in such a state (to this extent) and that was several hundred years ago, when his sister Melania's husband had suffered one of the worst tragedies that any soul had undergone since the Harbingers' Verdict. It was always easy to tell. Thanatos was never in such a sour mood. He was usually always cheerful, eager to talk and laugh. Not scowling at his plate and picking at his food.

Nope. The usual good mood Boss would be devouring whatever was in front of him.

"Sir?" Maitland asked, somewhat cautiously. No one knew what an angry Thanatos running around on Earth could do. All that could be promised would be a lot of damage and a lot of souls making the journey to Annuvin. The last time there had been a truly angry Boss wandering about the French Revolution erupted. There was a reason why no one got him angry around on the mortal plain. "If I may ask, your Lordship, what is the matter?"

"I met my descendants," the Boss answered bitterly.

"And?"

"They're the most disagreeable lot I ever had the misfortune of meeting!" he spat. "You wouldn't believe it if you met them, Leith!" He slammed his hand down on the counter, sending a ripple of power that shattered several of the other patrons' glasses. Thanatos didn't seem to notice that he was attracting a great deal of attention by that little show. A potted fern plant browned and withered before his eyes, the once living fronds dropping to touch the chestnut grain of the counter.

The bartender winced visibly – gods could be…very difficult. Understatement, but true. Even muggles could feel a god's anger. Sure, they wouldn't understand what it **was**, but they knew enough that it was dangerous and to be on their toes.

Nat ran a harried hand through his black hair, his features turning dark with just the mere memory of the visit. This did not do anything to calm the already nervous bar room. "They have all turned out to be a bunch of priggish, uptight snobs! **I'm **ashamed of actually starting the line and contributing to their gene pool!" Covering his eyes with a hand, tired and ultimately disappointed, he proclaimed, "It's unbelievable." Waving his other hand absently, he then added, "You'll have to meet them for yourself to believe it, Leith. **I **had trouble believing it and I'm as crazy as they come!"

Maitland tried to put on a reassuring smile, though he was struggling to hide the worried frown that was threatening to show. "I'm sure they aren't all that bad, Boss. All families have their oddities. My Great-aunt Valentine kept a pig around the house as a pet. Named it 'Anthony' of all things. And my father's family happened to be executioners that had a great love for their job." He laughed tightly. "Don't worry too much about it, Boss."

"Worried? I'm not worried," Nat waved off. "Royally angry, but not worried. Besides, if that Anthony had been a pet in that household, I hold no illusions that he'd have his own room and bed, take regular baths, and eat truffles all day long. And his name would probably be changed to Anthony Patriarchus Gregorian something-or-other." Maitland opened his mouth to disagree, but Nat silenced him with a look that said all to clearly that it would probably be true. "I'm not joking, old friend."

"I feel bad for you," Maitland sympathized. Ouch. That had to be a bad thing to discover. He himself had a noble cousin back when he was alive. And he would have to agree with the Boss' sentiment – they all were just noble pains in the arses. There was a reason why even to this day he would never put up with some snooty customer who began listing all the wines he had tried and how all of those were better than Maitland's own stock. There had been a few that had come in over the years. Maitland largely trusted in his regulars to take care of the problem – it was funny and more often than not the rich guy got thrown into a puddle of mud. Good fun. "But what are you going to do about them?" A pause. "Excuse me for being bold, but let me rephrase. What **did** you do?"

"Disowned them," the god replied, disgust lacing each word.

"You mean…"

"Yes. I took away the whole package. The wealth, the power, the youth, the success, and more – I undid every single spell I had cast on my own children all those years ago with just a few simple words. As of this day forward, I have no family." The dark-haired god sighed softly. "I feel awful about it, considering they're the children of my children…do you ever recall Alexander acting like that? Or Cassius? Or Teresa?" A small pang of pain hit each time he mentioned the name of each one of his children.

It was the hardest part of being immortal – watching those that you love grow old and die while you remained young and eternal.

Another sigh was released and Nat took a sip of his alcohol. "Maybe it's better off this way. Because of the denunciation, they're not smearing my name anymore." Another sip. "First, the youth and then the money. By the end of the year, if they don't get their act together, they would have about the same amount of wealth as their wizarding contemporaries, not ruling over them as kings of gold Galleons and silver Sickles any more." A wry smirk formed on his lips. "Maybe I should just stick around – just to see how they would cope."

"Boss, are you **really **alright?"

"Why do you ask?"

"No offense intended, but you sounded like Lord Moros."

In a gesture that made Maitland laugh (he really couldn't help it), Nat spat out his drink in shock. His dignity lost, he couldn't hide the flush of embarrassment that was forming on his face. Which made Maitland chortle even more. Everyone knew that Thanatos disliked his older brother, the god of cunning. Well, not only cunning but also doom. Moros had a manipulative and slightly sadistic streak a galaxy wide. 'Doom' became implied – or, as Thanatos himself had often claimed, embodied by him.

While they were laughing at this (or at least Maitland was), the door to the bar opened. The annoyed and angry murmur that his regulars let out once they saw the customer alerted him that whoever came in wasn't welcome. Which usually meant trouble. When he looked towards the entrance, he started in slight surprise.

Now, **here** was a shock.

Women didn't come around often – especially women of her type and status. Age as well, this one was young. She wore dark green cloak over a cobalt blue dress. One with a lot of petticoats. The woman herself had long black hair and intense blue eyes with tanned skin and a sort of strength that was unfashionable for the upper class women of the time. A red colored fan was held in her silk-gloved hands. His eyes narrowed, he began to notice exactly why she looked familiar – she had a faint resemblance to both Artemis and Melania. She must be one of the Boss' former descendants. Whoever she was, she looked around the room until her eyes alighted upon the Boss sitting at the counter. She smiled grimly and sauntered haughtily up to the bar, her skirt hoops swaying. And knocking the occasional glass – or person – to the floor as she did.

Maitland had to admit, that if this was a prime example of present-day Black, then the Boss was justified in his actions. He winced as the girl cast one of the less criminally inclined customers a scathing look, which caused the man to reach for the knife in his greasy coat. The bartender caught the man's attention and motioned to the door. The man, humbled but still offended, stopped and returned to his meal. The other patrons, upon seeing this…and Maitland's own annoyance at the newcomer, went back to their business.

That business also involved keeping an eye on the girl.

"Boss…company."

"I should have known one of them would try. Damn. I was hoping for a grovel-free day. I'll handle this, Leith. Just make sure that no one attempts to kill her. I don't want to spend more time with her than necessary." When the girl had finally reached them (not without difficulty) and made to tap Thanatos imperiously on the shoulder, he stopped her with a strong hand, not even turning in his seat. "What do you want? I came here to have a good meal, have a good drink, have a good conversation, and deplore over the degeneracy of my former family **which** you are part of. Now I think you should explain the reason – quickly, mind you, since I lack a great deal of patience – as to why you've decided to be discourteous and interrupt my evening's plans."

The girl gaped like a fish for a moment before recovering, her mouth pressed into a dour and annoyed line. "I happen to be Abigail Juliana Elizabeth Black-"

"That's nice. Now, if that's all you have to tell me, please go. Interruptions and introductions are only acceptable if one party finds the other somewhat friendly – at the least, tolerable. I don't believe we've satisfied those said cases."

She sniffed prissily. "I'm surprised some poor money-grubbing bastard like yourself managed to get inside the house, much less scare the rest so much." Maitland raised a skeptical eyebrow. Guess the Boss didn't exactly say how he was able to drop by after all these years. The next thought? The girl is cursing Death. It's a good thing the Boss is used it – any other god would have…well, **smited** her by now. "Do you know how stupid your strategy was? Pretending to be Nathaniel Black the First? He died centuries ago! I'm surprised you had them eating out of your hand with that tale."

"Now, Abigail, you know you should be kind to your elders."

"You are **not** my elder and are probably in no way a legitimate relative, much less related to me in anyway!"

"So, then why are you here?" The god finally turned around to face her, a sardonic eyebrow quirked in curiosity. The whole bar was quiet, listening to the exchange. He heard the clink of coins and the rustle of paper. Maitland smirked at the irony – they were betting. Though if he knew his patrons as well as he thought he did, most were betting on Thanatos. "All I've done is shake up your family a bit. I got nothing out of it except a large headache and an urge to kill." Lovely, Boss, just lovely. Make me **less** nervous, why don't you? The patrons applauded and whooped at this pronouncement. "I must have done something to make you wander all the way here and give the risk of dirtying those pretty skirts of yours."

"Don't think so highly of yourself," she shot back. "I just came to tell you the House of Black isn't so easily cowed by your parlor tricks and terror tactics. We are a proud family that will not bow down to any master!" Abigail hit the countertop with her closed fan for emphasis. Her hands were at her narrow corseted waist looking down at Thanatos as if he were the piece of trash.

"A proud and debauched family that I had the regrettable circumstances of starting," Nat replied smoothly. "Bear in mind who you get your blood from, dear little Abby."

"You cretin! My name is **Abigail**-"

"Yes, I know. Introductions, remember?" He smirked wickedly. "By the way, have I introduced myself? I'm Nathaniel Sebastian Black. The First."

"Fine!" she shouted. "Think whatever you like. But you're not a true Black. We'll live on and whatever you did won't affect us in the least. My elder brother Demetrius will carry on the line, and his son will continue it-"

Nat broke in. "No, they won't. That is the responsibility of your cousin Christopher, son of your supposedly **missing** uncle." Missing uncle? Most likely 'dead' uncle. Before him, the girl had paled considerably. "Trust me, Abby," Nat continued, "I know very well who is coming and going. Besides, it's from his line that someone will turn up that I'll actually like. Maybe I'll give back the Legacy then." He gave a roguish grin and raised his glass in a mock toast. "Here's to bad eggs!"

"TO BAD EGGS!" the bar toasted, every customer raising their glass.

Abigail Juliana Elizabeth Black pouted and let out a huff of indignation before flouncing away, skirts and all. The little bar erupted in cheers and applause, everyone pleased to see the rich noblewoman go. Much less, go insulted and put down. That was a rarity. Leith Maitland, however, was just happy that no one got killed.

"You know what, Leith," Nat loudly proclaimed, "I'm in a **much **better mood. Therefore, get out the good stuff and the glasses because this round is on me!"

To the regulars of Maitland's bar, it became official. The newcomer and aristocrat by the name of Nathaniel Sebastian Black was good in their books. But whether that in itself was a good or bad thing, it wasn't known.

* * *

The segment where Maitland mentions that the last time Nat was that upset it had to do with what happened to Melania's husband. For all those following the connections here, Melania's husband was Salazar Slytherin. What happened to him will probably be alluded to plenty of times, but I don't think I'll say just what happened to him just yet. 

The 'bad egg', so to speak, will be Sirius. Christopher Black would be Sirius' several greats-grandfather.


	4. Insanity and Lunacy

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything related to Harry Potter and characters/ideas related to it. I do own Melania and the other gods along with the plot. As well as Thanatos. Figuratively, to my dismay.

* * *

**Elemental Sight**

* * *

**Chapter Four  
Insanity and Lunacy  
**

_I am not crazy…okay, maybe I am. I probably got the backlash from all the older ones – Artemis, Moros, and even my own twin Hypnos. Father says he knew I was going to be a difficult on the day that I was born. While Hypnos put his doctor to sleep, I killed the one who delivered me. I adamantly maintain the conviction that this was not my fault, no matter if what Artemis was saying about the newborn me giggling maniacally when I had done the deed. By the way, is it even possible to **giggle** maniacally? Now there's an interesting thought._

_-Thanatos (Who is the greatest? I am! Booyah! Yeah, that's right. The rest of you suck! I rule!)_

* * *

Humans and gods did seem to be extreme opposites from each other in nearly every respect. The human philosophy took it further – gods were perfect in whatever they represented, whether good or bad. This couldn't be farther from the truth than saying that cats weren't really super-intelligent beings that took refuge on Earth sometime after the dinosaurs after their planet had self-destructed or that life only existed on Earth alone. These were cold hard facts – the only problem with their verity was that human beings were stubbornly steadfast in their belief to not accept them. To them, Earth was the most important place in the universe (the "center") and cats were just strange creatures that seemed to think that they were superior over everything else. 

Most gods and most people who knew better didn't bother to point out this mistake. For one thing, the people that knew better tended to be put in mental institutions very quickly. As for the gods – they couldn't deny that the belief that they were faultless made dealings with mortals _a lot_ easier. For who would dare go against an omnipotent and supreme figure? No one with any sense of survival would. Not to mention it stroked their ego quite a bit.

But gods weren't perfect. One of the last surviving philosophers in the last years of the Lost Golden Age, millenniums ago, once equated gods as being the first model of intelligent beings. Gods had feelings, gods had responsibilities, and gods were privy to the orders of higher powers (in their case, the highest powers, and so on and so forth. They could fight amongst each other, party with each other, have children, and be more or less difficult and troublesome. Such actions were the hallmark of all intelligent beings. The only difference was that the extremes of a god were the fact that they couldn't die unless under _very_ special circumstances (i.e. a Harbinger) and that they generally were a lot stronger and smarter in almost everything they did. Of course, there were exceptions to this.

And, like all intelligent creatures, they could also get drunk. It just took a bit more of the substance, but the result was more or less the same.

One of the main rules of the gods was to never _ever_ let mortals know this fact. The thought was: you would never do anything your boss told you to do if you knew he was drunk, the same applies here.

The only known exceptions to this rule were the institution of the Reapers. The reasons were: they were "dead" already, they were serving a god directly, and their boss tended to get smashed a lot. _"A lot" _being an understatement, but the Reapers rarely ever minded. The god that they served under, Thanatos, was just like that.

"Why am I not surprised to find you in this state?"

"Artemis, go away. It's the hangover."

"How much alcohol **did** you consume while loitering around and not doing your job?"

"…Lost count after thirty-second shot."

"Would it help you if I told you that Father was completely expecting this?"

"Nope."

"I figured it wouldn't."

Thanatos a.k.a. Nathaniel Sebastian Black a.k.a. many other names a.k.a. Nat groaned. He felt the soft material of a bed beneath his back – and judging from the slight aching in his limbs, he did not sleep in such away that was beneficial for the body to be in. Opening one bleary blue eye, he saw the blurry shape of his sister sitting on the bed. He couldn't see her expression all too quickly, but he could imagine it – that stern, "you are a nuisance" look that he often got. To Nat, that had been the glance she been giving him since he was three, after the incident when he broke her first moon globe.

Really, some people held a grudge over the littlest things.

There was an exasperated sigh. "You're incorrigible, Thanatos," she said mildly, brushing aside his slurred objection to be called his full given name. He hated when anyone used it. But mothers were mothers…and no one messed with their mother – not even their dad, and **_he_** was the strongest dark god that there was.

His eyes snapped open when he felt Artemis' cold fingers pinching his nose, preventing from breathing. As his mouth instinctively opened to compensate for the lack of air, a potion was poured down his throat. _Minty,_ was one of the few words his brain managed to come up with between cursing the existence of older sisters, thrashing about, and spluttering. In particular, spluttering. He resumed breathing once again when she took her fingers away and he thought he could see a mischievous grin flitting across her face. It was only after a few seconds when he realized he felt perfectly fine.

In fact, better than fine.

As his vision cleared and nausea dissipated, he noted that he was in a comfortable room. Which was **definitely** not where he had collapsed so cheerfully the night before. The wallpaper was powder blue and patterned with forget-me-nots in indigo, the rug covering the floor was deep red. With furniture painted in white and clean sheets, he judged that he wasn't in Leith Maitland's London anymore. From the large bay window, sunlight streamed in through white linen curtains and he could hear the sounds of the busy city. Nor was he in Kansas, but where that strange state in the American lands had to do with anything, he really didn't particularly care.

He was like that about most things.

Sitting up, he fixed his sister with a deathly glare. The moon goddess, as regal and aloof as ever, simply ruffled his hair affectionately. If she assumed that would make up for an 'attempted murder', she would be wrong. Even if…they couldn't exactly **die** it was the principle of the thing. The triple-damned principle of the thing!

Where Nat was dark and impish, Artemis was pale and refined. She took more after their mother Nyx, the goddess of the night. He resembled their father Erebus, the god-king of darkness, as did a majority of his siblings. Her hair was pale white and straight and this was one of the few times he had seen her wear it loose; when he was younger he was fascinated by it, causing her to always put it up. Her skin was a shade darker than her hair and the deep brown eyes that she possessed appeared even more striking and otherworldly than if they had been any other color. Currently, she was wearing a dark blue Mandarin-style Chinese dress, Chinese rune symbols embroidered into the material using white thread around the high-collar.

Nat raised an eyebrow at her attire, earning him a smack. _Didn't think Arty would dress in anything that was less than formal. _Gingerly, he rubbed the offending spot, pleased that he could always get a rise out of her. She was much more concerned with her duties and regulation than he ever was (or, in all likelihood, ever would be). Which was probably why she was their mother's favorite child.

"Apparently," she reproved, "the potion worked fine. Hypnos was concerned that you were lying somewhere in the gutters of London, smashed out of your bleeding mind, and covered in garbage." He pouted, making her cover her face with her hands in frustration. "Whether you were or not isn't the point I'm trying to make. You have to take better care of yourself when wandering around on Earth! By the name of our father, you **know** how strange the mortals can be."

"I think I had every right to go and get myself so drunk I couldn't see straight!" he retorted. _I wasn't doing anything wrong! And besides, what is she doing here to begin with? _His mind whirled to come up with a suitable answer. _She wouldn't be here unless…either Mum or Dad sent her…please not Mum, please not Mum!_ If their father had sent Artemis, he could probably get away with it. But if their mother had decided to have his sister fetch him?! He was admittedly a troublemaker, but no one crossed the goddess of the night! Now **that** was unheard of!

_I have **got** to get out of here!_ Immediately, he started to gather the energy to end up anywhere but here. He wasn't going to be very specific, but someplace that wouldn't be a threat to his health would be nice. Being in mortal form had some drawbacks…okay, a lot of drawbacks.

Artemis frowned in disapproval, taken to strumming her fingers against the wood of the small nightstand to relieve her irritation. He knew that in all accounts, she cared about him. It was just that he had a habit of hitting every one of her pet peeves. "Really, now? This I would like to hear." She fixed him with a sharp brown glare – and he knew that the disappearing act that he was about to pull of in that next second wouldn't work.

"I…saw my descendants…" he ventured uncertainly. "And…you were…right…" As soon as those words were vented, he leaped out of bed and raced towards window. Grinning madly, he jumped out the window into the alleyway below. _Freedom!_ He left his sister behind in the room, no doubt shocked by his reckless behavior. But, being a god, he completely forgot about the restraints of physics.

Artemis sat calmly on the duvet, with a contented smile on her face. With a flip of her hair, she rose to her feet. She was prepared to leave when a sarcastic voice suddenly spoke out, cynical amusement dripping from every word. "Aren't you going to stop him?" She turned to face the tall man in the shadows, garbed in a long black trenchcoat. The man's face was also shaded from view because of his fedora hat, but she could easily see the smirk gracing the man's lips. "We both know that our younger brother gets himself into trouble quite easily."

"Let him have his fun," she said matter-of-factly. As the two oldest children of born of Erebus and Nyx, they were the ones who kept the other younger ones in line. Even if they disliked what they had to do – surely, they had better things to do with their time – it was their responsibility. "Besides, it gets him out of our hair for a little while, Moros." She stretched out her limbs languidly. "Like Nat does say, we do need to take a break sometimes."

The grin of the older god grew wider and craftier. "But what about Mother? Surely you have thought of that."

"I'm sure Melania will come up with something."

They both vanished from the room.

On the floor of the alleyway, one god of death found himself cursing his luck. Not only was he only in a nightshirt and underclothes, but also he managed to land himself in a particularly smelly pile of refuse, just barely missing an old mattress by a foot.

Yes, he was cursing his luck. Loudly. And eloquently.

* * *

_Clothes were good things,_ Nat decided as he walked down the street, thankfully in more appropriate attire than a nightshirt. This was not the first time he had ever thought this – many gods were under this impression to begin with. According to his father, who was one of the oldest gods to exist, the concept of clothes came about with the creation of the light god Culinary, an extremely obese deity who had a passion for cooking and food as well for the catchphrase "Bam!". Clothes were considered a necessity after that. Thanatos was told this at the age of small age of three when he had – like most young children did when growing up – refused to wear any clothing. 

He was a cute child, his mother often said, but one that required infinite patience to raise. This wasn't any surprise to him. He was difficult now as it was.

He didn't know if Artemis had just had his comfort in mind…or if she was being evil. Between her and Moros, it was always hard to tell. Older siblings, whether immortal or not, seemed to be inherently sadistic. Whether that was part of the ultimate way things worked or not wasn't known.

_Ah well,_ he thought as he strolled down the street, drawing disapproving looks from the more socially conscious people passing by. _They are what they are. At least they didn't tie me up and lock me in a closet like they did last time. _He was dressed similarly to what he was wearing the day before, except in dark blue this time. Nat winked at a good-looking servant girl as she passed by with a basket of bread, grinning at the blush that colored her face as she giggled with her friends.

Oh yeah. He still had it.

It was at that moment while turning the corner that he was accosted from behind, nearly tripping in the process. Looking down, Nat soon found the source of his dilemma – a small young girl around thirteen was hiding behind his legs, trying to put some space between herself and a raggedy young ragamuffin that came careening our of a sweetshop. They were obviously relatives in some way – though the girl's pale green pinafore was in much better shape than the boy's shirt and breeches. Freckles were scattered across both their cheeks and they both had the same curly hair, though the girl had auburn tresses and the boy's locks were chestnut in color. But one was obviously better off and more polished than the other.

"That is so not true, Cornelia!" the boy yelled, trying to reach beyond Nat to grab at the girl, only succeeding to trip and land himself in a puddle of mud by the curb. Nat raised an eyebrow at the girl's high-pitched laugh as she ran down the street, her mocking voice carrying above the sellers and the wheelcarts.

"Is too, Gardner! And you know it is!" Nat soon lost sight of her among the crowd of milling people. He shook his head fondly, reminded of his younger sister Pandora. Much like that girl – Cornelia, apparently – the youngest was more than a bit spoiled. Of course, Dora got better over time (slightly), but there were still those years that he remembered just avoiding her for a while. Melania was not so fortunate as the de facto babysitter.

Kneeling down and helping the kid up, even if he was getting some mud on himself, he smiled amicably as the boy tried to regain his lost dignity. Which was admittedly hard considering he was covered from head to toe in muck. If Nat was gaining the censure of others simply for looking well groomed and a bit rich, then this rascal was a pariah of the highest regard. The boy, around ten, spit out some mud and looked about sullenly. Sulking, he muttered, "Thanks, mister," before trying to go on his way.

_Curiosity killed the cat. _Nat stopped the lad with a firm hand on the shoulder. "Hey, kid, what's the rush? Surely, you're going to explain that one to me. I usually don't find myself in the fights of youngsters. Older men, of course, but youngsters?" He smiled disarmingly. "Not only would it make me less of a man, but it's kind of hard to hit something so much smaller and quicker."

The young boy – Gardner - blinked in utter confusion, eyes wide in surprise; his face was almost comical. This only made Nat more amused – was he that far out of this era's norm? Evidently so.

"You see…" the boy struggled to convey, "we're cousins. And we were fighting over who was better, an elemental or a wiz-" Gardner's mouth snapped shut, his expression turning scandalized. Already, Nat's mind was working mischief. It was just the way that it tended to turn to. _Elementals? Those guys are always interesting…a little change wouldn't be so bad…_

"Whose better, an elemental or a wizard?" Nat prompted nonchalantly, enjoying the continuous shock that he was giving the child. He frowned in thought as he pondered this. "I suppose it depends on the level of skill. But under most cases? I would think the elemental – they have the advantage of surprise. Most of us do think we're the only lot that has magic." He bowed extravagantly before extending a gracious hand towards the boy, "Nathaniel Black, wizard extraordinaire, at your service, my dear boy."

"Oh! I'm Gardner Vartar," the boy replied, though he still didn't get the point of the extended hand. _Either I'm far too informal or the kid is just shell-shocked that an adult isn't acting like stuck-up and strict. Damn Victorian philosophy._ He would welcome the time when there would be less rules and more fun in general. People would be much happier. "I'm an elemental with the Suiko-Tsuki Panthers." He then looked grimly in the distance, where he saw the auburn-haired Cordelia enjoying a sugared plum and standing beside a rather forbidding woman who could only be her mother. The girl smiled back, slowly enjoying it.

The boy averted his eyes angrily, his distemper plainly loosing his tongue. Which wasn't bad thing - for what Nat had in mind to begin with was to get into the elementals' Grey Tower Town. But he needed a suitable reason. What better way than an invitation? Not only would it be a reason, he wouldn't be rude either. "She thinks she so great," Gardner fumed, "just because she's a witch. I don't lord over her with the fact that I'm a fire elemental and can block any of those curses that she throws at me." The lad crossed his arms heatedly and Nat could faintly see the red glow of fire around the boy's palms. "And all everyone does is go on and on about how great my wizard cousin is!"

"Don't pay attention to you, I assume?" he asked delicately. Nat had some idea of how the lad felt. It had often happened to him when he was younger. There were a whole lot of kids and only two parents – you try getting their attention. "They say how you should act like he does?"

The boy nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, sir! '_Look at his good grades, they have not seen scores like this!_' or '_Did you hear that he made it on his house team? He scored sixty points in the last game!_'" Gardner scowled in remembrance. "Always on and on about how great he is! And Aunt Margaret's no better, always trying to steal recipes from Mum to give to her _**house-elf** _just because she can't cook anything worth eating! I wouldn't be surprised if my brother does do what he's always saying he'll do and break our relations with them."

"I've had experience with that," Nat admitted. "It's a bit cathartic when it's for the best. Now let's go! We've got to get you some new clothes. Sooner than later!" He then began to steer the boy into the nearest tailor's store, despite the boy's protests.

"Sir, you just can't buy me new clothes! They're horribly expensive, 'specially here!"

"Young man, I assure you that money's no object," Nat countered blithely, noting how the tailors seemed to rush at him and take the boy to the stool to begin measurements. "You'll just have to find something to pay me back with." He smiled affably. "I believe that you said your mother is an excellent cook?"

"Yes, sir, Mum's the best cook in the world," Gardner claimed confidently. "I'd like to see the Queen's own chefs do better than my Mum!"

"Then it's settled! I give you new clothes, you pay me back by inviting me to dinner! If your mother's cooking is as excellent as you claim, then there shouldn't be a problem." Sharing a roguish grin, he added, "Maybe I'll run into your wizarding relations there. What is the name, pray tell, of your skilled and intelligent wizard cousin?"

"Geoffrey Dumbledore, he's sixteen. Then there's Cordelia and her twin, Aberforth. That one's a loon. And the baby of the bunch is twelve year-old Albus. We call him 'Albie' just to annoy him."

"That's the spirit!"

* * *

Is the Gardner's last name familiar? It should be. In Elemental Genesis, we find that Zylle's mother Sarah's maiden name was Vartar and she was originally from the Suiko-Tsuki Panthers. Gardner would be Sarah's uncle. So Sarah and Dumbledore are distant cousins to each other. Nat will meet Dumbledore himself (he's still a kid here) later on in the story.

---Raven Dragonclaw


End file.
